the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

‘You were just going to let me do it?’
Altaïr chuckled. ‘I have not spent my life walking the path of a
warrior in order to let myself be taken by a young pup at a
fountainhead.’
‘You heard me?’
‘Of course I heard you. I heard you approach with all the stealth of an
elephant and I heard that you favour your left side. Were you to attack I
should move to my right in order to meet your weaker side.’
‘Wouldn’t I anticipate that?’
‘Well, that would depend on the target. You would, of course, know
your target well and be aware of their combat skills.’
‘I know that this one has combat skills unmatched, Altaïr Ibn-
La’Ahad.’
‘Do you indeed? You would have been but a child when I last called
Masyaf my own.’
Now Altaïr turned to face the stranger, who pulled down his hood to
reveal the face of a young man, perhaps twenty years old, with a dark
beard. He had a set to his jaw and eyes that Altaïr recognized.
‘I was,’ said the boy. ‘I was a new-born.’
‘Then were you not indoctrinated against me?’ said Altaïr, jutting his
chin towards the citadel on the promontory above them. It crouched
there as if watching them.
‘Some are more easily indoctrinated than others,’ said the boy. ‘There
are many who have remained loyal to the old codes, and greater
numbers, as the pernicious effects of the new ways have become more
pronounced. But I have even more reason to remain loyal than most.’
The two Assassins stood facing each other by the fountainhead, and